


one and one and one

by serendippety



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, OTRA phase, mentions of zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26511739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendippety/pseuds/serendippety
Summary: Niall looks up, and arches an eyebrow. “A point? Didn’t realise we were playing a game.”“We are now,” Louis says shortly. “Player with the highest number of Liam Points wins. Get his attention, get a point. It’s easy, love, and I’m already winning.”No, he isn’t. Not if Niall had anything to say about that.
Relationships: Niall Horan/Liam Payne
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	one and one and one

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote my first (and last, then) niam fic when i was 17, posted from a different account. I know RPF makes some people squirmish, so, as with all things that are possibly problematic, this fic goes here. But if you're here, then you probably have no problem with it either, and I don't have to explain myself. 
> 
> I told myself I wasn't going to put too much effort into this, wasn't going to research, wasn't going to take it too seriously. But then I went ahead and did all of that, anyway. I picked and chose a few niam interactions from fan videos, and changed some things up to make them work in the fic. Unbeta'd but Happy 10 years of 1D.

He knows that Harry had warned him. About drinking three cans of Red Bull in one sitting, that is. And he knows it’s probably bad for his health to have that many, but he’d been so jet-lagged and they had had a morning interview and then some promo video to shoot, and honestly Niall had just wanted to survive the day. 

Everyone says that when the sugar high does run out, the crash would be just as awful, if not worse. But it’s also 1am and he’s still not the slightest bit tired. So, he finds himself curled up at the back of the tour bus, watching a sixteen second clip of a rotund seal trying to get out of a pool of water. 

Really, he doesn’t know how he ended up here. It had started with a summary video of the latest footie news from back home. Then, somehow one thing led to another, and quite suddenly his time whorls down a sink hole in an endless slew of animal videos. 

He’s too busy contemplating about how his life choices had led him up to this very exact moment that he doesn’t hear when the toilet doors open – hadn’t even realised when they had closed in the first place. And he wouldn’t have realised anyone’s actually been if they hadn’t come over to check on him. 

“Niall?” 

Niall jerks from where he is, causing one of his ear buds fall out. He looks up sheepishly, only to find Liam watching him, scratching at his stomach, head tilted with sleep set heavy in his eyes. He looks tired, but then again, all the boys do. Everything got harder when Zayn left, but they still try to make it work.

“Payno, hey,” Niall says quietly, immediately shifting into a sitting position to make space for Liam. Liam takes the invitation and drops himself into the empty space.

“Can’t sleep?” Liam asks, stifling a yawn.

Niall nods, not really embarrassed about his predicament of being unable to sleep, but more embarrassed about the whole thing with the Red Bull. He really shouldn’t have taken three whole cans. He swears his vision is almost swimming with a weird technicolour because he’s so physically exhausted but his mind is still stuck in its own mental jazz. 

“The caffeine is on an entire new level,” Niall mumbles sullenly, picking at a loose thread at the hem of his shirt. He tries not to tug too hard - he’s had a lot of good shirts go down the same way; threading having pulled apart because his fingers wouldn’t stop ripping at them. He lifts his phone as if to make a point. “’Been watching YouTube videos to tire myself out.”

“What’re you watching?” Liam asks. He may be tired, but Liam always tries to be a decent conversationalist. It’s something Niall likes about him. 

Niall shrugs. “Dumb shit,” he answers plaintively, because it is what it is. Also, because he wants to spare Liam the details. It’s not rocket science or anything. And Liam looks like he might drop dead if Niall actually got into it. 

Liam closes his eyes and inclines his head to the side, as if thinking. Or he might have dozed off while just sitting there. It wouldn’t surprise Niall – they’ve all fallen asleep in worse situations and in worse positions. But then Liam cracks open an eye and stares lazily at Niall. He speaks slowly, as if realising something. “What’s wrong with your bunk? ‘ts gotta be more comfortable than the sofa.”

Niall winces. “It’s too cold.” 

He’s not lying. The air con is right over his face, and it works as if the whole of winter depends on it. But it’s also only half the truth; the other half being that he spilled orange juice on the mattress and it’s starting to smell a bit icky. But Liam doesn’t need to know that. Especially since he had been the one to warn Niall against it. Bringing the juice box to bed, that is. Sometimes, laziness comes with a cost. 

“Wanna come to mine then?” 

Niall blinks. Not because it’s weird – he’s laid in other people’s beds for the fun of it plenty of times, although it would be a first to do it on the tour bus. Mostly because it’s too squeezy. Niall doesn’t really do fantastically with small spaces. Plus, it can’t really be that comfortable either, can it?

But if he lets himself think about it, then he’ll have to admit that he’s not particularly against it either. He’s always up for a good cuddle. Liam especially, Niall likes, because if anything, Liam knows how to hug good. 

Niall rubs at his chin, thoughtfully. “’m probably gonna still be up for a while though?”

Liam laughs, reaching out to tap Niall on the nose fondly. He’s sleep-rumpled with a bad case of bed hair, and Niall thinks he looks pretty fucking snug. Where their knees are pressed together, Niall can feel the heat of Liam’s body – it’s a comfortable contrast to the icy solitude of the late hour. Suddenly, it’s got him thinking about how nice it must be to have the full press of it all along his body. Like a personal heat furnace. 

It sounds fun, and the invitation seems twice as appealing now. It’s a good thing Liam doesn’t rescind his offer. 

“’s good, as long as you don’t kick me,” Liam jokes, smile gracing his face. He stands up and offers his hand to Niall, tugging him up onto his feet. 

It’s a bit cramped, but it somehow works. Niall has his head cushioned on Liam’s chest, with the weight of the other man’s arm draped across his stomach. He spends more time watching dumb videos, snuggled up against Liam and enveloped in their shared heat. The feeling is pleasant just as Niall had suspected it would be. He ends up drifting off with YouTube still running on his phone. 

He can’t blame himself though. It had been too fucking comfortable. 

-

Louis thinks it’s the most amusing thing ever to find them tangled up in bed like that. He pokes and prods Niall about it while they’re making a pit stop, and Harry and Liam had gotten off the bus to help snag them some breakfast. Niall thinks it’s funny. 

“Right, right,” Louis says mischievously. “Now I’m not saying you’ve won, but you’ve really outdone yourself here, haven’t you, Nialler?”

“What on God’s green earth are you even talking about?” Niall snorts, walking his index and middle finger across the table where they’re sat at, flicking at one of Harry’s loose grapes at Louis. They’re both engaged in a game of finger footie because there’s absolutely nothing else to do. 

“You and Payno,” Louis answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You win a point here for that sneaky cuddle last night, but you know Liam still likes me better.”

Niall looks up, and arches an eyebrow. “A point? Didn’t realise we were playing a game.”

“We are now,” Louis says shortly. “Player with the highest number of Liam Points wins. Get his attention, get a point. It’s easy, love, and I’m already winning.”

No, he isn’t. Not if Niall had anything to say about that. He’s never been one to back down from a challenge. And it just makes it that much easier if they’re vying for Liam’s attention. Because everyone knows Liam likes him the best. It’s just how the world works. He leans forward on his forearms, attentive. “Yeah? And if I win?”

Louis smirks, tipping his chin downwards to give Niall a sharp gaze with the cold steel of his eyes. “We’ll discuss it when you do,” he jokes, but he sounds confident, like as if he’s so sure Niall won’t stand a chance. And well, Niall’s just going to have to wipe that smirk off his face. 

“You’re going down, Tommo.” 

Louis smiles sweetly at that, unfazed – the way he always does when he’s scheming. He doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he just uses his fingers to launch the grape off the table, right past Niall. “Nah, not me, lad. You’re going down. Have already gone down, it seems. Got me a goal while you were distracted.”

Niall doesn’t get time to respond because the bus doors open, and Harry and Liam are back with croissants and coffee. But Niall does catch a wink from Louis the same time Harry accidentally steps on the grape and squishes it under his shoe. 

-

Niall almost forgets they’re playing some kind of game until one early morning, when Liam says, “Babe, scootch over a little?” with a cup of coffee in his hand and his phone in the other. 

They have an early morning interview for a local radio station in Cardiff – and when they said “early morning”, they really hadn’t been kidding. He’d never be awake at this hour willingly. 

Niall had been very unceremoniously sprawled out across the sofa in the waiting room. He knows Lou would probably murder him some for ruining his hair even before the interview has started. But Niall isn’t sure why it even matters because no one’s actually going to see them, right? It’s the _radio_. He doesn’t ask though; he doesn’t want to incur anyone’s wrath. Not at fucking four in the morning. 

He drags in his legs in so they bend at the knees, now taking up two seats instead of three. The laziness of it all is enough to make Liam laugh. 

“You feeling okay?” Liam asks as he plants himself into the vacated space. Once he’s settled, he pats at his thighs twice and Niall takes it as his cue to unfurl his legs onto the other man. It’s not his fault people like to spoil him; if the boys like to take care of him then hell yeah, he’s taking it. 

“Sleepy,” he groans. He can barely open his eyes; had barely been conscious enough in the morning to brush his own teeth. He should’ve known staying with Louis in the tour bus would be a bad, bad idea. When it’s just the two of them, they somehow never know when to stop. FIFA can only be that entertaining for that many hours if it’s Louis you’re playing with. He thinks about one of Louis’ bad impressions and hiccups over a suppressed laugh. 

Liam looks at him pitifully. “What time?” he asks. Niall doesn’t need to ask to know what he’s referring to. 

“2am,” he answers honestly. There’s no point in lying here, and maybe, if Liam is feeling chivalrous enough, he’d help deflect the interviewer from asking him too many questions later. Niall just isn’t going to say anything clever with the state he’s in. Neither is Louis, probably. 

“So, that’s like, two hours of sleep.”

“Nap, more like.”

Liam laughs. “C’mere,” he says, lifting an arm wide open; an invitation for a good cuddle. Because, apparently, Niall looks pathetic enough to warrant that kind of reaction, and because Liam actually feels that sorry for him. If the sofa had actually been comfortable, Niall would have maybe considered kicking him instead. But, as previously established, Liam hugs are just one of a kind. 

Niall can’t say no to that; especially not when Liam’s jacket is softer and probably more expensive that the scratchy polyester nylon of the sofa cushions. 

He sits up, crawls over, and plops himself down into the space, snuggling up comfortably against the grooves that seem to be the perfect shape for him to curl into and have a nap. It’s delightful, even more so when Liam gets a hand in his hair, fingers applying a good amount of pressure as they massage against his scalp.

And – oh. He’s almost forgot. “My hair,” he mumbles intelligibly. As if it isn’t a lost cause by now. But Lou’s pretty scary if she’s not in the best of moods, and really, who would be if they’ve been up since four? 

Lucky for him, Liam exists.

“I’ll fix it for you before we get on,” Liam says. He’s no Lou, but everyone knows he spends enough time on his hair on his own anyway. He’s passable in a way that he makes hair look as if it’s been styled on for five hours – messy but like, stylistically. Harry would’ve been caught dead, but it’s good enough for Niall, at least. 

He’s just about to drift off when it all comes swirling back – the silly game that he’s now playing with Louis; and Niall can’t help but ask. “Are you gonna do Louis’ hair too?”

Liam looks confused, and also nervous. Because Louis’ hair requires actual finesse and class; something that neither of them have. His raises an eyebrow. “Do I need to? What’s wrong with his hair?”

But that’s all Niall really needs to hear, anyway. He pats Liam on the chest, happily. “No, and nothing,” he says smugly, just that little bit more awake than he had been a few seconds ago. Then he nestles back in, tucking up snugly against Liam, and mumbles sleepily, “Good night.”

Louis isn’t in the room, but it’s alright though; Niall would tell him all about it. Clearly, the other lad hadn’t known what he’s set himself up against when he started all of this. Liam just so obviously loves _him_ , and that’s a no brainer. Niall’s confident that he’s already got this in the bag.

He drifts off for twenty minutes, smug smile still on his face while Liam continues to fiddle away at his phone. 

-

The stage, Niall knows, is where it’s easiest to rack up Liam Points without being an overeager twat. Especially when he has entire cards of Liam Privileges that Louis doesn’t have, not because Liam doesn’t like Louis, but because Liam and Louis have a different dynamic on stage that is just chaotic. Him and Liam, though, they’re cute. The fans love that. _He_ loves it. 

For that reason, You & I is one of his favourite songs to perform. Because there’s always this special Liam-and-Niall time that happens during the first chorus, and it’s no different today than it has been any other time they’ve done it. 

When the chorus hits, and Harry’s husky voice carries, Liam pops over, just like clockwork, to wrap his arms round Niall’s middle. Niall can pinpoint the exact moment when it’s about to happen because he can feel Liam dropping his arm a little lower, squeezing just a little tighter, settling his arms firmly against the planes of Niall’s stomach, just so he’s sure they’re extra secure. 

And Liam has never dropped Niall, not unlike the one time Niall had dropped Harry. So, really, he’s not scared at all when he feels the muscles in Liam’s arms shift, and he’s lifted him clean off the ground. For the kicks, Niall spreads his arms wide open, sailing his own S.S. Titanic, looking further into the sea of faces as Liam carries him higher. The view is great; he can see more people than he usually does. In those few seconds, while Liam keeps him up high while slowly turning them both in a small circle, the exhilaration never fails to hit Niall. 

When Niall plops back down onto his two feet, the moment having rolled on by, Liam always gives him a fond ruffle to the head before running off to get to where he needs to be. It’s a small moment in the vast span of their two-hour concert, but it’s one of the things Niall looks forward to each time they get on stage.

The thing about it all is that it’s not choreographed. That Liam actually has to be on the other side of the stage for the sake of positioning. But it’s always fine – has been for a long time; that as long as Liam gets there before his next solo hits, then there’s not a problem. And Niall’s pretty sure that Liam willingly doing all of this – the lifting, the ruffling and then the running – just for Niall’s own entertainment makes for a pretty damn convincing testament to just how much Liam likes Niall.

When their eyes meet again later, Liam gives him one of his brilliant smiles and winks at him before going off to bother Louis. 

Niall knows he’s winning. 

-

It’s only because he likes to spoil Harry that Niall agrees to go grocery shopping with him. He doesn’t actually _want_ anything, but there’s nothing to do in the hotel room, and he definitely does not want in on Louis and Liam’s horror movie spree. Honestly, fuck that shit. It’s the middle of June, whatever for are they even watching ghost movies?

Harry waves an apple in front of his face. “Nialler, hey,” Harry says, trying to get his attention. He sighs, shaking his head when Niall snaps his attention back to him. “You know, you didn’t have to come if you were that tired.”

But Niall isn’t really tired. It may be two in the morning, but he’s spent the entirety of today in a bus, lying on a mattress that has long deflated, feeling the springs dig into his back. He’s been restless all day, and he’s not normally this distracted, but he’s been staring at the same apples for the past ten minutes, and they’re all just the _same_ to him.

“’m not tired, Harold,” Niall says. He picks up an apple and squeezes at it lightly before tossing it back into the pile. “I dunno why you spend so long picking, you’re just gonna forget about them in the fridge like you always do.”

“Alright, alright. No need to get snippy,” Harry sniffs at him, not really offended or anything. They’ve all left things in the fridge anyway. There had been that incident with the soured milk that had stank up the entire bus, and Niall swears they might have all died had they left it there any longer. “Should we ask the boys if they want something?” 

Niall really didn’t think so, because they hadn’t wanted to come, but also because he’s not sure if they’ll check their phones. He shoots Liam a text anyway, fingers moving without even thinking about it. 

_U guys want anything ?_

Despite what he thinks, he stares at his phone expectantly, willing for a response to slide into his DMs while Harry continues to prattle on about crunchy apples. Sure enough, Liam doesn’t disappoint. The message comes in after just two minutes. 

_We’re good, thanks babe :) x_

His phone vibrates again immediately after. 

_Oops. Tommo says he wants some crisps. Aha x_

And then once more, this time from Louis.

 _You could’ve texted me too, mate._

He’s only realising it now, as he stands in the fruits and vegetables section with Harry, that Liam tacks on little kisses to the end of his texts, much like Harry does. Curious, Niall scrolls up to browse through his chat history. He won’t pretend that it doesn’t actually delight him when he finds that Liam has been doing that for a long time now. He hadn’t noticed. At all. 

He turns to Harry, suddenly way more curious. “Hey Haz, Li ever sends you any kisses?”

Now, Harry’s usually one with the master poker face, but this time, it contorts with confusion. His brows furrow, two Granny Smith apples still in his hands. “What?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Niall grumbles, feeling his cheeks go red even though he’s not sure why. He raises his phone to Harry’s face, pointing at the little ‘x’ at the end of every message. 

Harry pulls away, shrugging. “Not sure…” Harry answers, response typically slow and drawn out. “We don’t really text.”

He knows that’s true. Because Harry, in general, doesn’t really texts anybody unless it’s his family. Or unless you happened to also be Niall. Because Niall texts a lot; spams even, if he’s feeling particularly wily. But really, it’s just to check on people most of the time – Niall likes to do that. He likes to keep his friends close. 

“I’ll check for you,” Harry says after a moment. He raises his hands with the apples. “After you help me pick out my apples, of course.”

So, they spend another ten minutes doing just that. Niall lets Harry pick out the crisps for Louis, only because Louis doesn’t actually specify. Also, because he knows Louis had been trying to be a bit of an arse with his text. When they’re at checkout, Harry says, “Hmm, no kisses.”

Niall had almost forgotten. Except, not really. The thought makes him preen a little, a fuzzy warmth smouldering inside - that Liam saves those special crosses for him. He’ll need to check with Louis later too, but for now, he counts it as a win. 

Louis is absolutely mortified when he finds out that Harry has gotten him plain, baked crisps made from _lentils_. 

-

It happens on a random night on stage, while they’re in Brussels. The techs are all preparing for their next song, and Niall is sitting on the stage prop along the catwalk. He’s fiddling with his guitar, the way he usually does, when his hands are itching for something to do. Louis is sat next to him, toeing at Niall’s foot, kicking lightly because he can. 

Then Liam walks by, and without even stopping, reaches out to give Niall a quick chin rub, before he’s on his way down the walk way and back up the stage. It happens so fast, Niall barely registers it. When he looks up, Liam’s already retreating into the distance having not looked back even once. 

Louis, though, kicks him once, harder. “Disgusting,” he says, without malice. 

And Niall beams at that, cheeks flushing with pleasure. Surely that must also count as a victory? He bends the headset microphone away from his mouth and motions for Louis to lean in close just so he can speak into his ear without the rest of the world hearing. 

“That’s a point for me, Tommo,” Niall half-yells around Louis’ in-ears, grinning stupidly at how affronted Louis looks. 

His very undignified squawk gets picked up by the microphone anyway when Louis digs his finger roughly into Niall’s ticklish side. But Niall still feels like a winner. 

-

He knows that sometimes, Harry misses Zayn. Usually, when it happens, Niall finds him curled up against Liam, snuggled somewhere in the backseat of a car, or the bus, or a hotel room even. And Niall knows that Harry chooses Liam, not because any of the boys are less empathetic about the whole thing, but because in some ways, they’ve both been affected by the loss on a much deeper level than he or Louis had ever been. 

Harry has always loved too deeply, and Liam had always been Zayn’s close confidant. Niall isn’t envious of either of them; sometimes the hurt isn’t worth it. 

Truthfully, Niall knows he’s never been one to fret. So, when Zayn had left, Niall hadn’t been as angry as the others had sort of been. He had been sad, sure, but he is also genial and forgiving. Plus, he doesn’t like to hold grudges. If he could still stay in touch with Zayn, then that’s already more than he could ever ask for. The situation just rolls off his shoulders over time; because if Zayn feels better going solo, then he deserves that too. 

It goes unsaid, but everyone probably had thought so too at some point. They don’t usually articulate themselves about these things, because the situation is still too raw an open wound to actually touch. 

But when Niall stumbles into Harry, folded into his seat in the kitchen space of the tour bus, face buried into Liam’s shoulder, he knows it’s one of those days. Liam doesn’t seem perturbed by it, but he’s scrolling idly on his phone and singing softly under his breath in a way that is meant to comfort Harry.

It’s dark outside and they haven’t bothered with the lights, enjoying their solitude in the dark – Niall’s unsure what for, bonus points for being extra dramatic maybe – but he slides into the seat opposite Liam quietly, so as to not startle either of them.

Liam looks up, surprised. But that quickly turns into concern, as if Niall might have actually come with more problems to saddle on his shoulders. “Niall, babe, what’s up?” Liam asks quietly. 

Niall shrugs. “Nothing,” he says, because it’s the truth. He’d only come to get a snack from the fridge, but suddenly he’s not so hungry anymore. He takes another glance at Harry’s forlorn shape, and something squeezes sorrowfully. No one likes a sad Harry. “Haz, you good?”

Harry gives him a thumbs up in his general direction without lifting his head. 

And maybe he’s being really excessive about this whole thing, but he really doesn’t want them to be sad on the road. Just like that, Niall finds himself tripping back to the storage, rifling out his guitar, and stumbling back to his seat. He strums a chord, loud and raucous in the dark. 

“Want me to sing?” Niall says, even though he knows Liam had already been doing that since before he had arrived. But knowing Liam, he’d probably chosen something sad and depressing. And, honestly, if there’s something called The Tommo Way, then there should also be something called The Horan Way too. It so happens to be that The Horan Way is all about being upbeat and sunny. “Or I can play some acoustics, instead.”

Harry rewards him with another thumbs up. It’s vague, and general, and Niall doesn’t know if that means he has a preference. But he’s also pretty tired, so he forgoes the singing and just strums up a soothing melody that’s at least half way happy enough. 

He keeps at it for another half an hour, distractedly plucking at the strings, occasionally looking outside to watch the trees flit by in dark, lumpy shapes. Other times, he just zones out. It’s comfortable, being around them, even if Harry had passed out where he’s sat quite some time ago. 

“He’s asleep,” Liam says eventually, and that’s Niall’s cue to put his guitar away. He shifts the wooden instrument onto the seat next to him and puts his arms on the table, folding his hands together to pick at his nail beds. Somehow, neither of them feels like moving away. Probably because it means having to wake Harry to get him to bed. The bus corridors are too small to actually carry him anywhere. 

But also, Niall’s feeling kind of curious. That Liam hadn’t stopped scrolling on his phone during the entire time he had been playing the guitar. There has to be something interesting that’s keeping him _that_ distracted, right? So, he doesn’t hold his tongue and just asks. Because he’s Niall. Because he can. Because Liam likes him. “What’ve you been starin’ at?”

Liam looks up from the screen, blinking. Then he smiles sheepishly, almost embarrassed. “Uhm, there’s like, this cairn. In Sweden? And Finland… And Norway.”

That doesn’t sound very impressive to Niall. “Huh.”

Liam wrinkles his nose. “Wait, let me finish,” Liam scolds, but he can’t keep the laughter out of his voice. His eyes are turning into crescents, the way they usually do when he’s amused. “There’s this cairn, sat right in the middle, see. It’s set at the point where the national borders meet, and they’ve built this bridge around it, so like, when you walk around it, you’d just keep crossing into another country. Am I making sense?” 

Niall nods attentively, only because Liam actually seems to be interested. “A bit,” he says. 

“Thought we could go there,” Liam finishes lamely. It’s endearing really, so Niall can’t help himself when he reaches out for Liam’s hand that’s splayed out on the table, taking it in his to squeeze affectionately at it. 

“And do what?” Niall asks, distracted as he is, running his fingers over the lines of Liam’s palms and playing with the other man’s fingers. He’s pleasantly surprised when Liam turns their hands over so he can run a thumb over the grooves of Niall’s knuckles idly, as if he’s not even aware he’s doing it. 

Liam shrugs. “Could run some circles for the fun of it.”

This time, Niall snickers. Yeah, no one except Liam would want to do that. “But Li,” he says amused. “We’re in _Denmark_. You said yourself that it’s uh… Finland, Norway and Sweden?”

“I mean, they’re pretty close right? These countries?” Liam says. Then he stops, chewing his lower lip, suddenly less confident. “I mean their flags are like, sort of the same?”

Niall laughs. Geography has never been Liam’s strong suit, but he isn’t wrong, so… “Yes Li, they’re pretty close as far as countries go.” 

Liam grins at him, squeezing his hand. “Haz would come,” Liam says confidently. And then he takes a glance towards their curly-haired friend, gaze going soft and sort of sad. Niall doesn’t like that very much, but Liam turns back to him and gives him a smile. “Thanks, by the way,” he adds quietly, voice softer, head nodding towards Harry. Niall understands. 

“’Course,” he answers. “He’s my friend, too.”

Liam squeezes his hand again, and smiles. 

Harry’s okay again the next day, save for a crick in his neck. But he goes up to Niall and gives him a big hug, and Niall really wouldn’t have it any other way. Turns out, Harry’s also pretty keen on running circles around the three-country cairn.

-

He makes a beeline for Liam when he spots him on stage, his legs taking him there without even so much as thinking about it. When Liam notices him coming over, he goes over to meet Niall in the middle, automatically slinging an arm right round his shoulders when they’re close enough.

“How are you feeling tonight, Nialler?” Liam asks into the microphone and the crowd erupts into cheers. Niall’s just glad he’s not the only one who’s fond of his nickname.

“ _Hva skjer_?” he answers instead in very butchered Norwegian. The fans don’t seem to mind though; the crowd is going wilder, and Niall wishes he could keep them entertained like that, but that’s about all he can say in this foreign tongue. Instead, he goes in to curl next to Liam as the other man pulls him in for a side cuddle. 

“Say that again,” Liam demands jokingly, somehow absolutely regaled. The crowd cheers in agreement as if they want to hear it too. He’s not too sure – the fans are always screaming about something, but Niall does feel flattered anyway. 

“I can say it for you,” Harry pipes from somewhere behind them. It’s a lie, probably, but the stadium just about breaks apart with all the cacophony. 

Liam turns to look over at where Harry is balancing on the ramps. He’s smiling and Niall can’t really help but watch when Liam’s eyes disappear into crescents, crinkling at the corner with amusement. Harry may have the whole stadium at his feet, but does he have Liam’s arm wound tightly around his shoulders? Does he have Liam pressed into his side, fingers rubbing circles into his skin? Yeah, Niall didn’t think so. 

“How you feelin’, Haz?” Liam asks. Always asks. He always makes it a point to check on them all somehow, and Niall feels very fond. 

“Brilliant,” Harry answers because it’s true. He does feel brilliant. They all do. Even if they’re tired, it’s still pretty fun. Harry points into the crowd, and he says, “Someone’s dressed as a brown bear.” 

It shouldn’t be that funny, but it is to him. Niall finds himself cackling into Liam’s shoulder when the onesie gets tossed onto stage. 

When Liam untangles himself, about to go, he taps Niall fondly on the nose like he usually does. And Niall doesn’t really know what makes him do it, but he figures Louis is probably watching from where he’s hanging with Josh. He catches Liam’s wrists as the other man turns to leave, and then pushes himself up onto the balls of his feet as he presses a kiss to Liam’s cheek. 

Niall doesn’t doubt himself, doesn’t even consider if he’s made a mistake. He’s just that sure of himself – just that comfortable around Liam. 

The rough of Liam’s skin is somehow pleasant on his lips, the surprise on Liam’s face more than endearing. And when Niall feels the pressure of Liam’s hand coming up to steady at his hips, thumb pressing gently into the dip of his hipbone, it makes Niall a bit giddy with delight. A bubble of laughter escapes from Liam’s lips. All too suddenly, he’s leaning in to return the favour. The kiss is quick and chaste and _sweet_ , and the slight burn of Liam’s stubble against his jawline is nice. 

The crowd is going crazy. Niall really isn’t sure if it’s because of Harry talking about salmons in the background or if it’s because of them. Either way, he’s feeling pretty fucking great and that doesn’t change, even when Louis barrels into Liam, pulling him away from Niall, sloshing water all over the stage.

-

This time, Harry packs Old Maid for the road. The last time, it had been Uno, and before that, he’d brought Monopoly. Only Monopoly didn’t go so well, because Zayn had wracked up such a debt, and the game got so heated, Louis had taken to hiding some of the meeples that were never recovered. Sometimes, Niall would stumble across some of the paper money tucked into some hidden corner of the bus, forgotten. 

Old Maid isn’t exactly fun, but it keeps the hours filled. Even if it fills miserably - Niall’s been on a losing streak that is both embarrassing but also something amazing. He didn’t actually think Old Maid was the type of game to involve tactical thinking, but he’s lost three games now, and he’s going to have to admit at some point that he’s absolutely rubbish at it. Harry says it’s fine, but he’s not allowed to say that. Not when he’s the first to win each round.

Niall’s busy picking out a card from Louis’ hand when Liam walks in. He’s deliberating between two cards; looking out for a shift in Louis’ demeanour as he hovers over them in turn. Only, it makes Louis tut at him impatiently. “Any day now, Niall,” he says without bite. 

Right before Niall pinches his choice card between his thumb and forefinger, Liam leans over from where he’s standing behind Louis to take Niall’s hand in his, guiding it over to the other card instead. “Pick this one,” he says mischievously behind a laugh, eyes twinkling. Then he yelps shortly after, Louis having turned around to swipe at his stomach. 

It’s not fair play, but it’s funny. Niall doesn’t really realise he’s smiling until his cheeks start hurting where they’re pulled by the grin spreading wide across his face. He plucks the card out before he loses his chance, and Louis whines comically. “Come on lads, we’re not actually cheating during _Old Maid_ , are we?” 

Except, yeah, they fucking are.

But Liam just throws Niall a wink as he reaches out for the canister of coffee powder on the shelf. And just for the laughs, Niall motions for Liam to come over, rewarding the other man with a sloppy kiss to the cheek just to aggravate Louis further.

He still loses anyway. But it’s whatever, alright?

-

Niall isn’t always the messiest but he’s a long shot from being the neatest. Well, honestly, Harry is probably the neatest. The rest of them deserve some kind of last place with just how unruly they can get. Although, he supposes, Louis probably is still the worst. The junk bunk has doubled in number ever since Zayn had vacated his space. Niall’s pretty sure he’s seen a mouldy ham and cheese sandwich between the folds of the sheets at one point. 

For the umpteenth time that night, Niall finds himself questioning the Niall of the past. He doesn’t know why he had wanted to pack this many shirts and this many boxer shorts, but now he’s regretting it like he always does. 

Tomorrow, they’ll take the long drive up to Helsinki Airport and finally fly back home for a short break. Niall’s going straight back to Ireland – he can’t wait. It’s been a long time coming, and he wants to see his family again. But before all of that, is the storm to weather. He eyes his suitcase irritably; stray belts and bits of clothing sticking out in odd angles. 

He resumes his struggle with renewed gusto; he bothered to fold maybe only half his clothes and then the other half, he’s just tossed in there because he’s all but given up. Really, there just isn’t any point if he’s going to go home and take them out again. And then, when he has to leave, he’s going to put them back in, again. _Again!_

So, it comes much as a saving grace as any when Liam comes knocking on his door, a little half past eight. 

“Payno, thank goodness,” Niall says. He takes Liam’s hand in his and drags him into the room. Then he shoves Liam onto his suitcase so he can work the zipper around it and finally close the ever-living shit out of that useless piece of plastic. 

Liam laughs. “Well, it’s nice to see you too,” he says, eyes crinkling delightfully again. There’s that familiar twinkle in them that Niall thinks is just charming. He flops onto the bed as Liam gets off his suitcase, joining him by the edge. 

“Home, finally,” Niall declares into the emptiness of the room. Being on the road is always fun, but the novelty of it certainly wears out after periods of time. He’s so used to the small town of Mullingar where everyone knows everyone. It’s a world of a distance from where he is now, surrounded by tons of strangers and only a few familiar faces. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” Liam says unexpectedly. It’s not the first time they’re away on break – and it’s definitely not the longest either. 

“It’s only like two weeks, ya big sap,” Niall chuckles. “It’s gonna happen so quickly.” He closes his eyes at the thought. The idea feels a bit dismal to him honestly. Sometimes Niall does wonder what it would be like to live a normal life again. To have normal day offs without worrying about getting mobbed on the streets or the next time his passport needs a renewal. 

But then he feels Liam shift on the bed next to him, and suddenly Niall throws all of that out of his mind. After all, if it hadn’t been for all of this, he wouldn’t have met all the boys, wouldn’t have met Liam. 

“Li, it’ll be fine,” Niall says kindly when Liam doesn’t say anything. He opens his eyes and blinks up at the ceiling. “We’ll be back on the road again before you know it. Then we’ll all be in your hair and you’d want to smother us all in our sleep again.” He nudges Liam with his hand, giving him a jovial shove. 

“But it’s different with you,” Liam answers, a bit matter-of-factly, a bit neither here nor there. There’s a tone to it that Niall doesn’t quite understand but he’s also tired so he’s not sure if he’s imagining it. 

Instead, he rolls over onto his tummy and grins stupidly at Liam. “Yeah? How so? Indulge me.”

Liam just quirks an eyebrow at him, as if he’s really unsure if Niall is just pulling his leg or something. He draws his legs up onto the ledge of the bed frame and wraps his arms around his knees, turning to look at Niall weirdly. Liam studies him quietly, eyes unblinking but gaze gentle. “You’re special,” he says simply after a moment of silence. 

Niall laughs. “You love me,” he says happily. 

And this time, it doesn’t take a second for Liam to answer. “Yeah, I guess I really do,” he whispers back at Niall. His voice is soft and tender, but the mood goes right over Niall’s head anyway. He’s not the greatest at reading the atmosphere.

Niall sits up at that, eyes bright. He lets out an ugly sound that falls halfway between a snort and chuckle. “Hell yeah, can’t wait to tell Louis,” he crows triumphantly, and then he hits Liam playfully on the shoulder. 

Only Liam isn’t laughing back and he’s not even smiling. There’s a frown tugging at his lips that hadn’t been there seconds ago. The downward curl of his mouth is apparent because Liam has never been good at keeping his emotions from showing. “Louis…?” he ventures, confused. 

“Yeah! We were having this competition, see? Louis thinks you’d like him better than me but I knew he’s just a load of bollocks so-.” Niall does himself a favour by cutting off mid-sentence when he takes in how pinched Liam’s expression has become. Suddenly, Niall gets the feelings he’s missing the bigger picture here. He scowls, worried. “Li, you okay?” 

“Huh? Oh yeah.” He sounds anything but okay. He shrugs. “I just. Didn’t know you were having a thing with Louis.”

“I’m not having a thing with Louis,” Niall says, getting puzzled himself. “It’s just to see who could get your attention better.”

Liam hums at that but he looks pretty distraught, and Niall feels his gut clench uncomfortably. He reaches out but Liam shifts at the exact same moment, so his hands fall short of contact. He clears his throat, suddenly way too unsure of the situation. “Li, what’s going on?”

Liam twitches in his seat, hands fidgeting where they’ve knotted together. “I dunno. Sorry, I didn’t think- no. It’s. Dunno what I was thinking, sorry.”

Niall frowns. _What?_

Apparently, he’s said it out loud because Liam recoils a little, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I just. Sorry, I thought you liked me too.”

That’s just dumb, Niall thinks. Where did that even come from? He’s so confused. “But I do like you?” 

Liam stares at him expectantly, like he’s waiting for something else. He doesn’t look too hopeful though, like he’s catching the ends of this conversation a lot quicker than Niall is. Like they’re having two separate conversations now, because what on earth is Liam going on about? Had Liam been spending too much time with Harry these days? Are they all talking in riddles now?

Then it hits him. Like slamming into a brick wall, _hard_. He works his mind furiously, thinking back to what they’ve been talking about, wishing he could rewind time and hear the exact words they’ve exchanged. It's-

“Oh,” Niall says before he can stop himself, the truth dawning on him like the birth of a new day.

_Oh no._

And really, it’s not like that. At all. It had all just been good fun, goofing off with the boys hadn’t it?

Niall stares pathetically, chewing nervously on the inside of his cheek. He’s completely thrown off his groove; so utterly at a loss for words. He tries to make sense of it all. “Wait, wait. I just- Do you?” _Love me?_

Liam shrugs weakly. He gets up on unsteady legs, suddenly very unconfident, and probably very uncomfortable. “I- uh… Yeah. Yeah, sorry,” Liam says softly, and Niall is about to maybe throw himself out the hotel window. Liam looks so hurt and _he_ did that. 

“Don’t be,” he says quickly, because what else can he say? He wracks his brain for something but all he hears is a fuzzy tune with marimbas. 

It’s supposed to be a game, one that he’s supposed to be good at. And maybe it did surprise him that he’s been that good at getting Liam to look at him, but it had just been that, right? A game? They’re all just friends. 

…Right? 

“I’m flattered but,” Niall trails off slowly, hesitating with his words, because he’s never had to let anyone down gently before. At least, not someone he cares about so dearly. Somehow, this is harder than anything he’s ever done in his life. And that includes Harry’s fibre diet; something Niall had thought nothing would have ever bested but look where he is now. 

Lucky for him, Liam is braver. He smiles, even though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s my silly mistake.”

The silence that follows stretches thin between them as the words settle thick and heavy. This _really_ wasn’t supposed to happen. It’s supposed to be a _joke_. Niall clears his throat awkwardly, getting up to join Liam. He reaches a hand out to settle on the thick of Liam’s arm, squeezing apologetically, trying to convey his feelings as his fingers dig into the pliant muscles there. “We’re good, yeah?”

Liam seems to deflate further, and Niall can only hope that it had been relief that had washed over him. He seems to struggle for a while, but pulls himself together long enough to offer Niall a good half-smile, lips quirking lightly at the corners in a weak attempt to defuse the tension that had built around them. “Yeah,” Liam confirms, but it comes out like an airy whisper, and Niall doesn’t miss the disappointment that hangs off his words. 

-

“Fuck you,” Niall grumbles petulantly when he’s seated at the back of the tour bus, nestled against Louis and sunken snugly into the plush of his seat on the sofa. “Why’d you make us play that game?”

Louis, thankfully, has the decency to at least look guilty about it. “I really didn’t think this through,” Louis says regrettably. He looks sad, as if this is hurting him too. And maybe it is, but he’s not caught in the eye of the matter so really, Louis has no business looking that wounded. “I didn’t want this to happen, Niall.”

Niall scowls, lips pursing into a pout. Well, neither did he. “What did you _think_ was gonna happen?” 

Logically, Niall thinks, the answer would be nothing. Because, who could have predicted this turn of events? They’re just lads having a good time, and it’s supposed to be all fun and games, so he knows it’s unfair to think Louis could’ve seen any of this coming from a mile away. It’s just-

“Well, I mean, I know Li likes you,” Louis confesses. 

And just like that, the blood drains from Niall’s face. He jerks in his seat, pulling away to sit up straight, goggling at Louis as if he’s just sprouted a second head. “You _what_?”

Louis looks so guilty. _So guilty_. Niall thinks he might actually want to smother Louis to death with a pillow now. It _is_ his fault then! “I just,” Louis says, exasperated, “It really seemed like you liked him back. I just thought you’d needed a little push, is all.”

“Yeah, but you’re wrong. I don’t like him like that,” Niall says vehemently. 

“I know. That’s my mistake and I take full responsibility for it,” Louis says, and he seems to really mean it. “I’m sorry, Niall.”

Niall huffs, folding his arms across his chest and sinks deeper into the sofa. “You should be. I dunno what to say to him anymore.”

“Just be normal,” Louis tells him. He reaches out to put an arm around Niall, and Niall almost wants to shrug it off just for the sake of being difficult. But it really wouldn’t do him any good to pick a fuss with _two_ bandmates, so instead he lets himself be pulled in for a cuddle. “I’m sorry,” he says again. 

“You owe me,” Niall says instead, because he doesn’t know what else to say. The whole situation has twisted itself into one big knot, and Niall’s feeling so wretched and caught in the middle. “What if he never talks to me again?”

This time Louis frowns. “Lad, you know he’ll never do that. We’re all adults here, he’s not going to just wanna walk away from it all.”

As if to prove Louis’ point, Liam walks in, banana held in his left hand. He stops at the doorway as if trying to assess the situation, worried he’s just waltzed into something personal and private. But Louis just motions him over. “Payno, come join us.”

“What are you guys up to?” Liam asks as he crosses the room. He makes a move as if to seat himself in the empty space next to Niall but catches himself in time before plopping himself down onto the other two-seater sofa. The guilt twists itself further in Niall’s stomach and Louis sends him another apologetic look. 

“We’re about to play some FIFA,” Louis lies. He reaches out for the disc that’s still on the table since the last time they’ve played, and hands it to Niall. And Niall takes it unthinkingly, staring stupidly at the plastic until Louis nudges him to put it into the PS4. Normally, Niall would have asked him to do it himself, but this time, he’s just glad for the distraction. “Why have you got a banana? Did Harry sell you on one of his fibre diets?”

“Oh, you can’t run,” Liam says simply, as if he had answered the question. Louis’ about to say something in return when Harry pops in with an entire bunch of bananas cradled in his hands. He holds it up for everyone to see: they’re pretty spotted, bruised black in places. 

“They’re going bad,” Harry announces in his slow drawl, twisting off a banana and handing it to Niall. And another one for Louis, as Harry slots himself comfortably into the empty seat where Liam had almost sat. “Help me finish them, boys.”

Just like that, the conversation gets swept under, and the game starts up. Niall doesn’t really want to play, and he’s pretty sure Louis doesn’t want to either. But he takes it as his own due retribution for the awful heartache he’s inflicted on Liam. 

\- 

“You’re both awful,” Harry concedes. And he’s not wrong. Truly, Niall feels terrible about it. So terrible, that he had gone to find Harry to spill his guts. Their flights got delayed so they ended up spending another night on the bus, and it hadn’t been awkward but it also had been. Niall doesn’t know how to really explain it. It’s also 5am and the plastic seat is digging into his bum uncomfortably, so he gives up, curling into his seat and planting his head into Harry’s lap.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Niall replies glumly. Even though it had been Louis’ idea. Honestly, it wouldn’t do him any good to blame Louis for it anyway. It had been entirely his choice to play along and he also knows, in the deepest of his heart, that Louis hadn’t actually done anything. Niall had just taken the idea and ran with it. It had all been him. 

“At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if _I’m_ his favourite,” Harry says drily. 

As sarcastic as Harry had meant it to be, Niall groans because he definitely isn’t going to let Harry off with that assumption. Harry is no Louis, but Niall would still fight him to the death for that title. Niall doesn’t know why, but he would, just because. “Don’t start,” Niall huffs. He’s in a bad mood, ready to throw a hissy fit at the drop of a hat. 

But then Harry gets a hand in his hair and rubs soothingly at his scalp, as if to placate him. They’re at the airport, finally waiting for their flight home. The short break before their next leg of the tour really couldn’t have been timed worse. Because now he has to up and go, and walk out as if he hadn’t left things in shambles between him and Liam. 

“He’s not mad at you,” Harry reasons. He has the fingers of his other hand stuck between the pages of a book where he’d stopped, right before Niall had crashed into his private bubble. Harry reads a lot – cheap romance as it may be – but it’s more than his measly book count of one, so Niall can’t really judge him. 

“But I hurt him,” Niall mumbles, eyes drooping close as Harry continues to soothe him. “You think Li would ever talk to me again?”

“He talked to you this morning. And yesterday.”

“But it’s different,” Niall complains. He makes wild gestures with his hands. He remembers the way Liam had to catch himself before he sat down next to Niall, the way their conversations feel so fucking weird now. “Dunno why but everything seems pulled apart.” He wrinkles his nose at that – it’s not exactly what he means. “Not as affectionate, maybe.” That’s not exactly it either, but it’s a bit closer. 

Harry doesn’t answer right away, like he’s mulling it over and really thinking about it hard. When he speaks up next, he almost sounds genuinely confused. “But that’s a good thing, right Niall?” 

The question comes as a shock, because why would it be a good thing? He opens his mouth to retort something quick but doesn’t find the words he needs. He frowns, eyebrows pulling tight and he worries his lower lip with his front teeth. 

“Niall?” Harry’s fingers have stopped moving, and his friend looks down to peer at his face, green eyes twinkling with confusion. “I mean, you don’t actually want him to continue having these feelings for you right?”

Niall frowns, and sits up, dislodging Harry’s hands from his hair. He rakes his own hand through his dry locks. Now he feels confused too. “Yeah, but I still want to be his _friend_.”

“He still treats you like one, for the most part. Just like how he treats the rest of us,” Harry points out.

Niall’s about to make a comment about how Liam likes him the most, so it’s totally okay if he wants to be a little more affectionate with him than the rest of the lads. But he stops himself because it makes sense now that Liam had probably only been all that with him because he had _liked_ Niall. 

“He won’t sit next to me,” Niall clarifies lamely. 

Harry shakes his head mirthfully, but his eyes are watchful as if he’s understanding something that Niall isn’t. “I’m sure he’s just trying not to come on too strong. It’ll blow over when he gets over you.” 

And he doesn’t know why, but that thought upsets him too. 

-

Ireland is luscious and green like the jealousy that feeds into his veins when Louis informs him that he and Liam had met up over break. They really aren’t playing this game anymore but Niall can’t help it when he hears his mind go _“one point for Louis!”_. 

He texts Harry a picture of Lough Derravaragh when he follows his brother and sister-in-law out for a fun time fishing under the sun. Harry texts back with a picture of his hand, giving Niall a thumbs up. 

They don’t have a group chat so Niall doesn’t hear from Liam at all. 

-

Liam said they’re okay – had agreed to being okay – but Niall knows they’re anything but. 

He doesn’t notice right off the bat that something is still incredibly wrong because Liam talks to him like he usually does. They’ve slipped into a moderately agreeable tempo ever since break has ended and Niall almost believes Harry when he says that whatever strain had grown between the two of them is already on its way out. After all, Liam had sat next to him for the first time since everything had gone downhill. 

The truth only slams into him when they’re singing You & I live at San Diego, and he waits for the familiar pressure of Liam’s arms winding around his waist, but it doesn’t come. It’s the first show they’re doing since they’re back on the road and it’s the first time he doesn’t get to soar through his very own mini Titanic.

At first, he’s only mildly confused because maybe Liam’s just running late. But then he spins around when the next verse starts, only to find Liam on the other side of the stage, engaged in an inside joke with Louis, giggling off the risers of the set. Liam is exactly where he needs to be as per stage choreography, but that has almost never happened before – Liam has never followed that, not since their last tour, and Niall feels some kind of discomfort settle deep in his stomach, making something flip unpleasantly. 

Niall is too distracted by the way Louis is leaning in to whisper something around Liam’s in-ears, watching enraptured as Liam steadies Louis with a hand pressed into his hips, that he almost misses his solo. Harry saves the day when he bounds over and playfully slings an arm round his shoulders. 

Niall sings brilliantly, but feels a pang of hot pettiness zip through him when he thinks about how Liam probably hadn’t been paying attention. 

-

It’s maybe through their third show since San Diego that Niall realizes that saying no to Liam’s love had taken away _a lot_ of his Liam Privileges. That things are a lot worse than Niall had anticipated because he just didn’t realise how much of his life revolved around his interactions with Liam. 

It’s not the end of the world on stage, because Louis, certainly, is more than happy to step up to the role; to ram into him or throw water at him if Liam wouldn’t. But… it’s different. Liam had always been gentler in a way that he doesn’t exactly mean to hurt Niall. It’s not that Louis wants to hurt him either, but if he’s out to make hell, then he’s going to do it well and proper. 

And it’s not like Liam doesn’t do anything with him, because he does. He still does some of the playful pushing and pulling, toned down as it may be. But the problem, really, is that, that’s all they ever do now.

Because when it comes down to it, that’s not exactly the part about his Liam Privileges that Niall misses.

It’s the way Liam catches his eye and grins silly, eyes crinkling and cheeks lifting as he flashes a toothy smile. It’s the way Liam pulls him in close, arm curled around his shoulders, fingers drawing random figures idly into the bare of his skin. It’s the way he kisses Niall sweetly on the cheek as a way to play up for the fans, but is somehow still very raw and sincere. It’s the way Liam taps him on the nose lovingly, the way he playfully scratches at his ear, the way he gives Niall his signature chin rubs. 

And it’s the way Liam would sometimes call Niall “babe”, because the only other person who had ever been on that receiving end had been Zayn, and Zayn isn’t here anymore. 

The worst part of losing all of that is the fact that Liam doesn’t do it with the other boys. That while he still has good fun with Louis and Harry, all the shoving and hugging and laughing, all of those smaller actions had been very explicitly Niall-specific. It does nothing but confirm his suspicions that Liam had probably done all of that out of a deeper affection.

It shouldn’t bother Niall, really. Especially since it isn’t like that. Sure, Niall loves Liam, but not in the way Liam wants him to.

…Right?

So, Niall doesn’t really know what to do when he feels the upset digging deep into his bones, like as if he’s still entitled to these soft touches even after rejecting Liam like that. He wants to kick himself because _get a grip, man_ , but at the same time, he sort of knows he’s still going to allow himself to feel like a brat about it. 

-

He isn’t as drunk as he hopes to be. And that says a lot because he likes beer, likes alcohol, likes the festive feeling of being high on that ethanolic buzz. So, it really shows how terribly Niall is feeling when he doesn’t take anything more than a single pint because he’s just that distracted. 

“You okay?” Harry asks, sliding in to the seat next to him. They’re one day before their next show in Minneapolis, cooped up in the VIP lounge of the hotel bar room. It should have been nice to relax and unwind, but there’s a tightness in his chest, as if a giant seatbelt has constricted itself around him, and Niall knows why that is. Sad, but true. 

“’Course,” Niall lies smoothly. He flicks at the empty pint glass sat before him, and regrets immediately when the soft of his finger collides against the hard glass sharply. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Harry shrugs, picking at the table idly. “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself very much,” he says simply, and that, too, is true. When Niall neither denies or confirms that, Harry takes it as his cue to continue. “You know, we could always go back to my room and play some Scrabble.”

Now _that_ , Niall thinks, is hilarious. But also endearing, because Harry is just so kind sometimes, Niall doesn’t know what to do. So, he does what he normally does, and just laughs. “Harry, mate, what the fuck are you talking about,” Niall snorts, rolling his eyes fondly. He gently shoves Harry off his place on the bar stool and watches amused as Harry yelps. “I’m not gonna trade a night of beer for _Scrabble_.”

Harry nods, not really up to argue. He wipes his hands down the leg of his trousers, and says thoughtfully, “That’s good, because I don’t have a Scrabble set on me anyway. But we really could do something else, you know.”

“I’m fine,” Niall insists. He should be, and he would be. He just needs time to get used to this new distance that has wedged itself between him and Liam. However long it might take – because at this point, it’s already been about a month since Liam had confessed to him. And deep down, Niall knows there’s a bigger problem; one that he hadn’t been willing to acknowledge for a while now, that had all too suddenly taken on a physical entity in the form of a rock in the pit of his belly. 

It takes a while before Niall successfully gets Harry off of his case. He, bemusedly, waves Harry off with a martini in his hand and watches as the lanky man disappears into the crowd. Alone with his thoughts and the swirling eddies of complete remorse, Niall allows himself to indulge in his own torturous mind games. 

He turns in his seat and goes back to doing what he had been doing before Harry had popped by. It’s mildly creepy but he insists that he’s allowed to do it under the pretence of looking out for his band mates. 

He searches through the crowd, trying to pick Liam out. And maybe Harry had been right. Maybe he should’ve dipped and run. Because whatever Liam had been doing twenty minutes ago, it certainly hadn’t been this. Niall almost doesn’t fight the way the acidic distaste burns right up his throat and makes his face go sour as he watches Liam make out with a random nobody. 

Niall’s never been one to deny himself of anything, but this time, he tries errantly to tell himself that he doesn’t care. That Liam could go and snog whoever he wants, whenever he wants. But the reality of it all is that Niall cares a little too much. 

The truth washes over him gently, like water tugging gently at sand as a wave recedes back into the ocean. The crux of the matter has always been simple: he really likes Liam too. It really shouldn’t have taken him this long to notice. Not when he’s spent weeks clambering over Louis to win Liam’s attention, so wrapped up in winning that recognition title of being Liam’s favourite. But, alas, here he is. 

It would have been funny to Niall – that Liam and Louis, and maybe even Harry, seemed to have realised all of this before him – only it isn’t funny. Not when the very person in question is pointedly moving on and kissing the brains out of someone who could have been five years older than all of them. And he knows Liam could have whoever he wants, but it upsets Niall that he would choose this random bloke from out on the dance floor, when he could very well be kissing up to _him_. 

Not to toot his own horn or anything, but he also happens to be one of the most sought-after men in the entire world. 

Niall groans, frustrated. Obviously, this had been his fault, and obviously he’s being very selfish and snooty about the whole thing but he can’t help it. The misery sort of just makes itself at home right between his ribs, nestling somewhere dark and ugly and petulant. The more he acknowledges this fact – that he actually would like to kiss Liam – the worse everything else seems to get. 

He’s been doing a lot of brooding lately that just isn’t like him at all.

-

Niall doesn’t like to admit it but he’s high on that after-show glow that often comes after a night on stage. He’s feeling fucking fantastic for the first time in a long time. Nothing has changed, really – heck, they’re still in Minneapolis even – but Niall has made it his life mission to not give a damn. If Liam wants to play this game, then Niall’s got plenty of experience playing dumb games with infuriating bandmates. 

He knows, though, that there’s a lot of other things he could be doing: like joining Louis and Liam for a late-night KFC snack. Or watching an old re-run of The Notebook with Harry. But, honestly, why should he? Why shouldn’t he just fuck all and do whatever the hell he likes? What’s stopping him from getting smashed and enjoying a night without the lads for once?

The answer is _nothing_. Absolutely nothing is stopping him from making these irresponsible choices. So, he decides to do just that. He pockets his keys, grabs his wallet, and goes back down to the same bar room from the night before. His one-tracked mind hones in on the prospect of endless beer and the rest of his critical thinking becomes history. 

The next time Niall opens his eyes, his face is smooshed onto the cold, lacquered wood of the bar room. He hears voices passing over his head and he’s only vaguely aware of how familiar the tattoos swimming in front of his vision are. On impulse, he reaches out and runs his fingers along the four black bands of chevrons pointing outwards. The touch startles the owner but whoever it is, they don’t move away. 

“Oh god. Niall? You okay there?” 

Niall knows that voice too. He blinks again, feeling some clarity in his mind before it blurs out, like a cloud moving across the sun. He watches as the stranger digs out his own wallet and pulls out a card. Then he feels a hand, massaging into the stiffness of his shoulders, soothing out the knots there while a glass of water materializes before his very eyes.

And whoever it is must have thought that crouching down was something they should be doing, because now they’re at an eye-level with each other and oh- _Liam_. 

He looks worried, and Niall doesn’t know why. Had he missed something? Not unlikely. He stares unblinkingly back at Liam who’s busy worrying his teeth into his lower lip. Now, Niall’s brain isn’t really functioning at its fullest capacity, but the way Liam’s eyes catches in the light can’t be anything other than really gorgeous, can it? Not to mention those lips. He wonders what it would feel like to have the full press of those against his own – wonderful, he imagines. 

The magic of the moment is cut short when Liam nudges the glass of water towards him. “You should drink some water,” he coaxes quietly, keeping his voice low so he doesn’t upset the ringing in Niall’s ears. That’s bloody considerate of him, Niall thinks, and honestly, he might’ve just fallen a bit more. Regrettable, really. 

He tries to be a good sport about it, because he’s clearly not in a luxury hotel room right now. Things are only slowly coming back to him in pieces, but the specifics are still blotchy in places. He tries to sit up, but it’s honestly no good. His head feels way too heavy, and his body keeps swaying even as he tries to stay upright. 

In the end, he collapses sideways, head resting against Liam’s hip, body tucked under Liam’s arm to make sure he doesn’t go toppling off the bar stool. He drinks some of the water just as Liam asks him to, but his hands are shaking a little too much, and it comes as no surprise when he ends up spilling some down his front. It helps though; he feels a little more awake and put together now. 

The bar tender comes back with the tab, and Liam’s card. Before Niall can so much as protest, Liam hoists him up onto his feet. “Let’s get you back to your room,” Liam says gently and Niall can’t really argue. 

“You paid for me,” he ends up saying instead, dumbly - it’s all he can manage at this point. 

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Liam tells him. Somehow, it’s just too easy to believe him; Niall lets it go without second thoughts. 

They make it back up the elevator without incident, which is something of a miracle, because Niall thinks his legs might actually give out anytime. His stomach too. He really wants to hurl. 

It’s only when Liam’s has his hands down Niall’s pocket, fishing for the key, does he gain enough sobriety to ask a question. “How’d’you know where t’find me?” he asks, slumped pathetically against his friend, putting all of his weight onto Liam where their bodies are pressed together in a line.

“Paul said you didn’t leave - _oops_ , careful. The hotel, I mean. Where else could you have been?” Liam inches them into the room slowly, doing his best to keep Niall from accidentally swinging into any offending furniture. He does a good job for the most part until Niall stubs his toe against the corner of a wall. He barely feels it though. 

“Coulda been with Harry,” he offers. The minute he says it though, he knows how dumb that had sounded. 

Liam laughs a little, shoulders shaking, and it jostles Niall enough to aggravate the headache that’s budding behind his eyes. He groans pitifully, and Liam settles him onto the bed quickly but gently. “Harry told me he couldn’t reach you all evening. He was worried about you.”

“’Course he would be,” Niall mumbles, not sounding as appreciative as he should. 

“He came knocking when you wouldn’t open your door,” Liam says, taking a seat by the edge of the bed. He’s too far away though, so Niall wriggles across the sheets just so Liam is within reach. Liam smells good, like aftershave and soap; it’s all very comforting, and Niall allows his eyes to fall shut for just a moment. 

“What about you?” Niall asks, eyes fluttering open.

Liam quirks an eyebrow. “What about me?”

“Were you worried too?”

Liam frowns, but only just a little. “’Course, I was. Went looking for you, didn’t I?”

“Why?” Niall blurts, and because he hates himself that much apparently, he lets his mouth run. “Is it because you like me?”

Liam blinks, clearly taken aback. “Niall,” he starts but Niall just isn’t having any of it. 

“You don’t like me,” Niall declares sloppily, the alcohol giving him the extra push to be a total dick about everything. “Saw ya snogging some dude last night.”

Through the alcoholic haze, his inebriated mind catches on to the tight pull of Liam’s brows, the now obvious downward curl of his lips. Liam is displeased, and Niall thinks, _good, that makes the both of us._

“Niall, “Liam tries again, this time sounding a little desperate. 

But Niall bulldozes on, relentless. “Was he good?” he blabbers, because honestly, fuck it all. If he’s going to town tonight, then he’s not holding back. 

“Mate, look, you’re drunk,” Liam says instead, softly. He’s gently prying at fingers that Niall hadn’t even realised had twisted themselves into the leather of Liam’s jacket, searching for familiar contact. Niall doesn’t want to let go though. This has been the closest they’ve gotten ever since that day with Liam’s confession, and Niall just desperately doesn’t want to be left behind again. 

The situation upsets him. He wants Liam to be angry. Because at least it means he still cares. He hates that Liam just wants to bow out from this conversation, as if it’s no skin off his nose. Like it doesn’t matter anymore, when it’s all Niall ever thinks about. 

“Nah mate, _you_ look,” Niall growls impulsively. He struggles to sit up, and Liam, despite everything, supports him in his endeavour. He slumps against Liam’s shoulder once he’s upright enough because he still can’t get his muscles to cooperate. “You don’t like me like that,” Niall repeats, speaking into Liam’s shoulder. “If ya did, you wouldn’t go ‘round snogging random blokes and-“

He doesn’t get to finish his own tirade because Liam jerks away as if burned. 

The reaction sends Niall tumbling off his shoulders and Liam stands up abruptly, clearly upset. Niall’s vision is spinning a little. Liam is no longer in his peripherals from where he’s flopped back gracelessly onto the softness of his bed, but Niall doesn’t really need to look to know that his friend is pissed. If he were to be honest, he’s also pretty pissed at himself. 

The air swirling around them is heavy and electric. When Liam speaks again, his voice is measured, but tight with what Niall can only guess is rage. But this is what he wanted, right? He wanted anger so he gets anger. Just desserts, really. 

“You don’t get to hold that over me,” Liam says, voice trembling in a way that isn’t characteristic of him. “Not when you were the one to turn me down. I don’t owe you anything, Niall. What does it matter to you who I kiss?” 

And Niall really can’t say anything to that; doesn’t _know_ what to say to that. But his heart twists so painfully in his chest, and he’s having so much difficulty trying to breathe, he half wonders if he’s choking on his vomit now. He doesn’t know why he had to go and push all those buttons, or really, he does. And he hates that he acted on it. Jealousy is an ugly colour on him. 

He barely registers what’s happening until he hears the door click shut, and he knows Liam’s left. He struggles to sit up, but when he does, he finds that Liam had been nice enough to leave out a bottle of water and a sheet of aspirin pills by the counter. Niall really hates himself sometimes. 

-

Niall knows he truly fucked up. This time Harry _and_ Louis are disappointed in him. And he knows, if he doesn’t do something about it fast, then everything is irreparable, that he might have just single-handedly murdered One Direction. 

Niall is many things: Irish, blonde, cute. And also, apparently, a jackass. 

-

In the time it takes for them to move on to Kansas City, Liam pulls himself together enough to act like nothing’s happened. Niall wishes he wouldn’t do that, but Liam is just too good at putting everything before himself just so he doesn’t act selfishly. He waves away the apology before it can even leave Niall’s mouth and really, that doesn’t help them at all. 

So, Niall does it quite unthinkingly that night while they’re up live at the Arrowhead Stadium. Everything else up to this point has pretty much failed in bridging any gaps, and Liam wouldn’t just ignore him in front of thousands of fans, would he? And if he did, well then, Niall has lost a lot of face over this entire charade and honestly, one more to the count won’t matter to him. 

He knows, though, that using stage leverage makes him also a bit of a bastard, because if Liam does ignore him, then _he’d_ be the bad guy. And maybe Niall’s being selfish again here, but it’s quite literally the one place he won’t chicken out of. He’s tired of mind games, he just wants his friend back. 

He lifts the microphone to his lips and calls to Liam before he can change his mind.

“Liam,” Niall says loudly, and embarrassing still, his voice cracks. He winces as it gets amplified by the speakers, booming out over all the cheering of the fans. Like magic, Liam whips around from where he’s sitting to look at him – really _look_ at him – for the first time since Helsinki. 

The fans are screaming but Niall only has eyes for one person now. Louis leans in to whisper something into Liam’s ear before giving him a friendly shove down the stage ramp. It feels a little ethereal with the way the stage lights are gleaming off the plastic, Liam just casually making his way over, bringing his microphone up to his lips. He looks stunning – always has. The way Niall feels his breath catch in his throat is almost miserable. 

“Nialler,” Liam says in response, and Niall’s throat constricts with a sudden wave of emotion because he hasn’t heard that in Liam’s voice for weeks now. And he sounds so calm, so collected, as if none of this bothers him. But it bothers Niall so much, even worse if it means having Liam move on. 

“Li, I-,” Niall starts, but his voice wavers almost pathetically and he has to stop. He’s suddenly aware of the whole world watching, the crowd silencing down to a soft murmur, because nobody knows what the fuck is happening. He knows that even the staff are watching, which makes it worse, but he ploughs on anyway. Because if it doesn’t happen now, then when? 

Liam comes to a stop a few paces away from him. If Niall had really wanted to, he could reach out and clutch at Liam’s shirt. Instead, he stands there, staring blankly, mind fuzzy. 

“You…?” Liam encourages softly, gaze softening when Niall can’t get his words out right. And wow, Niall has never felt so overwhelmed before. 

Niall clears his throat, and takes a deep breath. Only it changes nothing and he still feels really awful all around. But Liam is looking at him, watchful and patient. Quite frankly, if there’s one thing Niall absolutely has to do tonight, it is to damn bloody well apologise for being a right tit. 

“Li, I’m so, so, sorry,” Niall finally pushes. Once the first words are out, everything flows much easier. “I wish I hadn’t said any of that. I’m so fucking sorry.” The words come tumbling out without a filter, and he doesn’t care if it’s a “family show” or not; only cares that the whole world knows how remorseful he is of everything. 

And it pays – so fucking much – when Liam smiles at him, soft and forgiving, pulling Niall into an embrace. He had missed everything so much: the warmth of Liam’s body pressed against his, the tight curl of his arms around his waist, the soft scent of aftershave, the way he traces idle patterns against his skin. Just like that, Niall comes undone. 

“Shit Li, I’m so sorry,” he blubs pathetically into Liam’s shoulder, microphone forgotten where his hands have curled tightly into the fabric of Liam’s shirt, clutching so hard his knuckles are going white.

Liam hums back kindly, rubbing his back soothingly. “Niall, it’s fine. All in the past, yeah?”

Except no, it isn’t. It’s not fine at all. He’s not taking the easy way out even if Liam says it’s okay. 

“I need talk to you later, about everything,” he whispers instead, because it’s going to take awhile. He’s not going to pretend everything magically fixed itself with just a 3-minute hug on stage. 

“’Course,” Liam answers easily. When they pull apart, he taps Niall on the nose fondly. Just in case, he gently runs the pad of his thumb just under the rims of Niall’s eyes, catching stray moisture from any unshed tears that Niall had successfully blinked back. And because Liam always asks; always, _always_ , asks, he says,” You okay?”

Niall hadn’t known it before; hadn't realised how much he had missed Liam checking in on him. He nods, throat too choked up on feelings to do much more. 

When Liam deems him to be well collected enough, he spins the shorter man around before slinging an arm around Niall's shoulders. “How are we feeling tonight, Nialler?” Liam says into his microphone – not out of malice but in an attempt to bring them back to normalcy. He steers them back to centre stage where Harry is busy opening a box of cookies.

“Funny,” Niall answers, because he does feel funny. And his voice sounds funny too. But Liam gives him a gentle squeeze, and Niall knows they’ll be okay. 

Harry, though, takes the mickey out of him. “Funny?” he repeats, voice incredulous, “How does that even feel like?” He means no harm though, and Niall is honestly glad for the light-heartedness of it. This is, after all, The Horan Way. 

The crowd picks up momentum again, and Louis says, “We’ll just have to fix that for him then, haven’t we lads?” 

It’s maybe the first enjoyable performance Niall’s had in a while. 

-

The conversation happens where Niall least expected it to, but he supposes it makes sense that it would all come around in one big circle, so now they’re back where it had all started. The hotel would have been a more ideal place, but hotels have never really been the place for face-to-face interaction. It’s more of a side-by-side sort of place, and he sort of needs to look Liam in the eye if they’re going to be talking about this. 

Louis had been kind enough to vacate the bus and bother Harry for a re-watch of Avengers. Not that Harry wanted to watch that particular movie, but he takes it with grace for the greater good. 

It’s a bit of a roller coaster ride from start to finish, and Niall ruins the threading of his sweater by the time they’ve coasted through the vast majority of these rough waters. They start from the beginning to the end, from the game to the confession, from the familiarity to the distance, from one drunken night to the other. The details and specifics all spool out between them, like a thread unravelling – just like his sweater, Niall thinks drily – and, he honestly hadn’t realised how long and drawn out this had all gotten. 

By the time they’ve made peace, they’re both tired. But, if Niall were to be honest, he hadn’t been able to broach what he’d wanted to say. Hadn’t been able to scratch the surface of the one thing that had really been getting to him. It seems like it’s just destined to sail right over their heads, even though the truth is already out in the open. 

Maybe it’s just not the best time to talk about it, and maybe Niall doesn’t deserve it, but with all their cards laid bare, he just needs to _know_.

He stops Liam when the other man has one foot through the door way, hand coming up to take Liam’s elbow. “You said you were drunk and snogged the random bloke to try and get over me,” Niall blurts out. His voice is so loud in the empty corridor, making them both wince.

When Liam turns to face Niall, his expression is unreadable. Niall doesn’t like that. The guardedness makes Liam feel far away again. But he looks Niall steadily in the eyes, like he’s not afraid to admit it again. And he really shouldn’t be; he didn’t do anything wrong. Liam affirms it for him once more, softly, voice barely any louder than a whisper. “Yeah, I did.”

Niall breathes heavily through his nose, trying to quell the ricocheting of his heart. He tightens his grip on Liam’s elbow, steeling himself for what’s to come next. “Did it work?” Niall asks still embarrassingly loud, be he can’t help it that he’s just so nervous, damn it. Plus, it makes Liam smile, amusement dancing in the light of his eyes, and suddenly, Niall can’t really feel too bad about his volume. 

“I wish,” Liam tells him, rueful and wry. 

The blood is roaring down Niall’s ears, the rush of adrenaline making him dizzy. He grips harder still onto Liam’s elbow - it’s a miracle he hasn’t snapped it clean off Liam's joint. He swallows thickly. “I know I don’t deserve it at this point but,” Niall says in a breathless rush, “reckon you’d still be willing to give me a chance?”

And this time, Liam offers him a weak grin. “Probably,” he says quietly, but in jest - Niall's pretty sure he’s allowed to it take for a 'yes'. Really, that’s all he wants to hear. 

He drops his grasp on Liam’s elbow and throws his arms around Liam’s neck, winding his arms and reeling the other man in close, just so he can nuzzle against the crook of Liam's neck. He wants to be closer still, so he can feel the beat of Liam’s heart through the soft material of his shirt. He closes his eyes tight, reveling in the way Liam’s pulse is loud and thunderous, and he hopes that Liam can feel his too. 

“Good,” Niall whispers harshly. “ _Good_.” 

-

Usually, Niall doesn’t run back stage during their usual five-minute intermissions. But, this time, he’s lost his snapback somewhere on stage, and his hair is a right mess, falling over his eyes. Normally, he can live with it; isn’t diva enough to do something about it. But tonight, they’re poking right into his eyes, and he’s fucking tired of seeing a line of hair in his vision every time he turns a little too quickly to look at the other side. 

He needs to find Lou in the time that it takes for Harry to go through his list of jokes on stage. 

He spots Liam stepping out of one of the dressing rooms, coming in from the opposite direction. He’s changed out from his previous shirt – the one that’s dripping because Louis had dunked an entire tank of water on him while they’ve been frolicking around as they usually do. It’s funny, the things they do, as long as _he_ doesn't get caught in it. 

Just thinking about it has him smiling silly. 

If Niall hadn’t been in a rush, he would have stopped to say hello. But, really, he needs to find Lou before he scrapes his eyeballs out in frustration. As all things go though, his plans get squashed, and somehow, Niall had seen it coming. He barely makes it past before Liam catches him around the waist; pulling him to a stop and digging his fingers a little roughly into the side where he knows Niall’s just all ticklish. 

“Liam!” Niall gasps, voice pitched and breathless as he struggles to speak in between his laughter, attempting to squirm out of Liam’s hold. Only, it doesn’t work, and Liam just holds on tighter. 

“Niall,” Liam says back when he finally relents on the tickling. He keeps his arms looped loosely around Niall’s waist though, as if not wanting him to go just yet. And it’s entirely sweet of him; Niall would like to stay longer too but he _really_ needs to find Lou. That is, until Liam leans forward to press a kiss square between his sweaty brows. 

Suddenly, it’s not as urgent as he thought it had been. 

“Going somewhere?” Liam asks cheekily. 

Niall’s not so sure anymore. He shrugs, leaning into Liam’s touch, and resting his hand on a bicep. “No,” he lies. The world could have been ending, and Niall would still have said no. Love makes fools out of even the best of people; and the way Liam is looking at him, fond and tender – well, everything could wait, couldn’t it?

“I love you,” Liam breathes out quietly, just loud enough for the two of them to hear. 

Niall grins. “Me too,” he says quickly, not quite thinking. And because he tends to babble, he goes on. “Love you, that is. And myself. I love myself. But I also love you.” 

Liam laughs, brown eyes bright and crinkling at the corners, lips curling. It’s a favourite look, and Niall feels something like putty, wrapped where it’s safe and comforting and familiar. 

Somewhere on stage, they hear Louis yell into the microphone. “Liam Payne, get back here and finish what you’ve started!”

Liam winces. “Shit,” he says, withdrawing his arms. But he looks humoured, and Niall knows there’s going to be more water on stage tonight. Before he goes though, Liam dips down just enough to press a kiss right onto Niall’s lips, lingering a tiny bit longer than he has to. Then he’s gone, darting down the corridor, and back up the stage. 

Niall almost doesn’t remember what it is he’s supposed to be doing but his face hurts from smiling too wide.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have a comment for me, that'd be cool. If not, that's cool too. 
> 
> Edit: I keep editing this because it's like he he him him he his he his him he his him he his he him his his like!? can u even tell if i'm talking about liam or niall anymore?!?!?! im getting confused too and it's awful!!


End file.
